I scarcely feel the same warmth towards that more established national telly-myth, BBC-1's Dr Who, which holds much of our junior population rapt with awe and excitement. Certainly the idea of a flying telephone-box as a time-machine is pleasing, but where is the magnetism of the actual adventures in other ages or spheres? I can see only the wooden charmlessness of the adventurers, both as written and performed, the lamentably unchilling plastic monsters or (in the historical episodes) the pasteboard Romans, Saracens or French Revolutionaries. If this instructs a fraction as much as the far more amusing Wonderworld, I'll eat my hot sweaty hat.

Disclaimer: These citations are created on-the-fly using primitive parsing techniques. You should double-check all citations. Send feedback to whovian@cuttingsarchive.org

APA 6th ed.: Holstrom, John (1965-04-16). I can see only the wooden charmlessness of the adventurers. New Statesman p. 622.

MLA 7th ed.: Holstrom, John. "I can see only the wooden charmlessness of the adventurers." New Statesman [add city] 1965-04-16, 622. Print.

Chicago 15th ed.: Holstrom, John. "I can see only the wooden charmlessness of the adventurers." New Statesman, edition, sec., 1965-04-16

Turabian: Holstrom, John. "I can see only the wooden charmlessness of the adventurers." New Statesman, 1965-04-16, section, 622 edition.